


"School of Cock" and Other Classics

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Porn, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, Gratuitous Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Medical Kink, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Sex Before Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 05:51:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Grindelwald felt like the devil you make a deal with, trading your soul away.But Graves feels like a different kind of devil. A devil of temptation.





	"School of Cock" and Other Classics

**Author's Note:**

> HT to ["...upon occasions when my heart was touched"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11606223) for the concept here; I'm indebted to it for planting the idea that became this nearly 14K monster!
> 
> The tags only include kinks that receive a substantial amount of descriptive focus, but the end notes contain specifics of the scenes and additional kinks that also appear, for the purpose of avoiding squicks. Please scroll or click to the bottom and check there if it might be useful for you!

“He checks out, Tina,” Graves says.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

Graves shifts the mic from his earbuds to hang closer to his mouth and bends over again to resume his tweezing. It’s not _just_ his eyebrows—a trademark—that need constant maintenance. He waxes everything, of course, like everyone except the bears, but there’s always a few stragglers that need a special invitation to get the fuck off his balls.

“He checks out, I said,” Graves repeats. “Kid is eighteen. Just barely, but–“

“His mother beats him. She beats all of them, but she seems to hate him the most.”

“Because he’s gay?”

“What do you think?”

Tina’s upset about some kid who showed up at the studio this week, practically dragged in by the scruff of his neck like a wobbly kitten, to hear her tell it. Tina says Grindelwald found him out by the tent city on the south side, which isn’t so much tents like camping tents as it is long shiny trailers and a big circus tent that fills to the brim every Saturday and Sunday. They’re called the _New Salem Congregation_ or something like that, and they seem to be staying. It’s been months now, and there’s more trailers, and once when Graves drove by on his way out of town he saw workmen digging trenches. Putting in electricity for RV hook-ups, maybe.

“I think if he checks out, he checks out.” Graves has a friend at the PD. Well, “friend.” When new kids turn up, it’s just a matter of handing out a backstage pass or two, and the background check is discreet and accurate. It’s double confirmation. Sera is pretty thorough in her own document checks, but two is always better than one.

Tina huffs over the line. “Just keep an eye out, will you?”

“Sure.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Tina. I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

* * *

Graves gets it as soon as he sees the kid. He’s tall, might even have an inch on Graves, but he’s painfully thin and painfully pale. His hair is dark and his eyes are dark over high cheekbones; the effect altogether is almost elvin, beautiful and otherworldly, or it would be were it not for the absolutely horrific bowl cut he’s sporting.

The kid is sitting outside the prep room the B-listers share, wedged in the corner on a folding chair doing an admirable job of making himself look as small as possible.

“Hey, kid.” Tina’s right about this one: Graves can’t just walk past. “You’re new here, right?”

“Um, yes.” The young man scrambles to his feet and clasps his hands tightly in front of himself. “I’m Credence.”

“Credence?”  


“Credence Barebone.”

Graves laughs. “You picked a good one, kid.”

“Picked?”

“It’s a good porn name. ‘Credence’ sounds religious, which reminds people of priests getting down and dirty, and ‘Barebone’ has ‘bone’ in it, of course. It’s almost a rule, having some reference to your dick in your porn name. I’ve got ‘Hancock’ myself. Perry Hancock,” Graves holds out a hand. “But you can call me Graves.”

The kid’s handshake is limp, and he mumbles something that Graves doesn’t quite catch.

“What was that, kid?”

“It’s not my porn name,” he repeats.

“Oh.” Graves drops the poor kid’s hand, and the kid—Credence—wraps his arms around himself and looks at the floor.

“You should pick a porn name, at some point.” The kid looks so _ashamed_ , it’s heart-breaking. Graves reaches out and tips Credence’s jaw up with his thumb and forefinger. “Let me know if you need help. With your name or with anything else, OK? My dressing room is around the corner. It’s got my name on it.”

“OK.”

Graves drops his hand from Credence’s face.

“Thank you, Mr. Graves.”

“Just Graves, kid.” Graves smiles, and the kid doesn’t break eye contact, which is something.

“When are you on?” Graves almost doesn’t want to know.

“Three o’clock.”

It’s only eleven. “You’re here early.”

Credence shrugs. “I didn’t want to be late, and the buses can be unpredictable.”

“Well, if you want somewhere more comfortable to sit, you’re welcome to join me in my dressing room. I’m on at noon.”

* * *

At eleven forty-five, Graves is waiting for the costumer to drop off his scrubs and lab coat when his phone rings instead. It’s Sera, with the unwelcome news that Frankie showed up high as a kite—third time this month—and there’s no one else ready.

Except, Graves thinks, for the new kid with the strange name who is curled up with a heavily dog-eared paperback in the armchair in the corner. Graves is invested in this business; his own fortune is more-or-less aligned with the company’s, and the company will lose a lot of money canceling a shoot with as much equipment as this one. So Graves offers.

“What about Credence Barebone?”

Credence perks up in his corner, but Graves holds a finger to his lips.

Credence is scheduled to shoot Grindelwald’s gang-bang at three, according to Sera.

“A gang-bang for his first film?”

“Grindelwald’s idea,” Sera explains. “Said he talked to the kid about it.”

“I doubt that,” Graves says lowly, watching the confusion and even fear flood Credence’s face and posture. The kid looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Grindelwald is a sadist, and you know it. Put Credence in my shoot, and give Grindelwald someone who’s good at crying.”

Sera hesitates, and Graves fumes. Grindelwald’s practically _replaced_ him these past couple of months because he’s willing to skirt the hardcore line and because he’s disturbingly good at finding legal but young-looking twinks and convincing them to give gay-for-pay a try.

“He’s only using you as a stepping stone, you know,” Graves says quietly, when Sera still hasn’t responded. “He doesn’t care about MACUSA or how we’re doing things differently here. I keep telling you he’s gonna be–“

“Fine, have Credence.” She hangs up, which is rude, but she’s the president of the studio—MACUSA is the first female-led major porn studio, though Sera hates it when anyone points that out—so she can do what she wants. And she often does.

“What’s going on?” Credence asks, perched at the edge of the armchair’s seat.

“My bottom didn’t show up,” Graves starts, “Or showed up high off his head, rather, which is worse. We don’t shoot without everybody sober.”

“I know,” Credence says, “They explained.”

“I’m doing a medical kink thing today, so it’s a complicated set. Lots of equipment we had to rent. It’s expensive to cancel. Since you’re already here, I asked to have you take Frankie’s place.”

“Me?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first, but you’re already here, and the job is the job, I figured. Unless–“

“What’s a gang-bang?”

Graves can’t speak for a few seconds. It’s like somebody dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. All the signs, all the awkwardness. This kid might _actually_ be as innocent as he looks.

“Credence,” Graves starts, then has to stop for a few moments to work moisture back into his mouth, “Credence, have you–“ He almost says ‘had sex’ but it’s not quite the right phrasing, not precise enough. “Have you been fucked before?”

“No,” Credence says simply.

“What are you doing here?”

“I need the money,” Credence says, just as simply, but he must see something that scares him in Graves’ face because he continues, frantically, “I need the money, and I can do it. I know I can do it. I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of– of pain.”

“It’s okay,” Graves holds his hands up in surrender. “We all need the money. Or most of us, at least. But the question is... Do you even know what we’re expected to be doing on set in a half hour?”

* * *

In more than one way, Credence isn’t prepared for this. But it’s good money, _really_ good money, and this Graves seems kind, kinder than the blonde man who’d brought Credence here, at any rate. That man felt like the devil you make a deal with, trading your soul away. This man feels like a different kind of devil. A devil of temptation.

So here he is: in nothing but a flimsy paper hospital gown and his underwear, waiting for–

“Thomas Galahad,” Graves says, as he walks towards the exam table Credence is sitting on from upstage. Graves is wearing seafoam green scrubs with a white lab coat over top. There’s a stethoscope slung around his neck and a pen in the hand that’s not holding the clipboard that he’s just read the name from. “Here for your annual exam?”

“Yes, doctor,” Credence replies, dropping his eyes to his knees.

“No need to be nervous.” Graves ducks his head to catch Credence’s gaze and reaches out to caress one of Credence’s bony knees. It’s just a brush of his thumb, but it makes Credence shiver.

“Let’s start with your lymph nodes.”

Graves sets the clipboard aside and presses his fingers gently in different spots on Credence’s neck. He looks in Credence’s nose and ears and makes him say “Ahhh” while he shines a light in the back of his throat. It’s not until he’s checking Credence’s heart with the stethoscope that Credence gets a jolt back to awareness of where he is, and what he’s really doing ( _not_ getting examined by a doctor). The stethoscope is shockingly cold when it grazes Credence’s nipple, and when Credence jumps Graves apologizes, but then he does it again, and after he finishes with the stethoscope, he pushes the sides of the gown apart and puts his hands on Credence’s chest.

“Your nipples seem rather sensitive,” he says, tweaking one with his thumb, which is strange in that the sensation seems to shoot directly to Credence’s groin. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” Credence answers honestly.

“Hmm.” Graves is still working Credence’s left nipple in little circles with his thumb. “Tell me if this gets to be too much.”

Graves bends down to lick and bite gently at the same nipple, and Credence gasps at the first touch of Graves’ teeth, and he can’t help it, he shoves Graves’ head away when Graves pulls off briefly and _blows_ on the wet skin, raising gooseflesh and every hair on Credence’s body, it feels like.

Credence’s blood is thundering in his ears. He still doesn’t know any of what he’s supposed _to_ do, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t involve shoving Graves away.

“Well, the good thing about this scene is the more awkward and nervous you are, the better it’ll look on film,” Graves had said in the dressing room. “Just act natural and try to stay as relaxed as you can.”

Credence isn’t relaxed now, but thankfully Graves doesn’t look angry, at least not until he spreads the paper gown apart further and sees Credence’s underwear.

“Thomas,” Graves says sternly, and Credence’s heart jumps into his throat, “You were supposed to take these off.”

“Sorry, doctor. I–“ Credence gulps, then shifts his weight onto his hands on the exam table to pitch himself off it, but Graves stops him with a hand low on his belly, just above his underwear.

“No need to get up.”

Graves cuts Credence’s underwear off with a pair of medical scissors. The bottom blade of the scissors is flat with a rounded end, to avoid catching on skin, but it’s still very cold, and Credence flinches at the first touch of the metal to his skin.

Graves flips the front of Credence’s underwear down as soon as he’s cut through on either side of it, and Credence’s soft cock is exposed for Graves and, eventually, the whole Internet to see. Graves pulls on a pair of latex gloves and then makes a show of inspecting Credence’s cock and balls. Credence’s skin is still sensitive, even a bit sore, from the waxing, and the gloves stick to Credence’s skin a bit more than how it would be, skin to skin. It’s not very pleasant.

“How often do you masturbate, Thomas?”

“M– masturbate?”

“Touch yourself. Don’t you touch yourself?” Graves pushes Credence’s knees apart and steps between them, running his hands up the insides of his thighs. “Tell me the truth now, Thomas,” he says soothingly. He’s very close now. So close Credence might not be imagining that he can feel the breath of each of his words. “I’m your doctor. You can trust me.”

“I don’t touch myself,” Credence says, honestly.

“Never?”

Credence shakes his head.

“Do you get hard?” Graves moves one hand back to Credence’s cock, as if to clarify what he means, though Credence understood perfectly.

“Sometimes, in the morning.”

“Good, that’s normal.” Graves sweeps his hands up and down Credence’s thighs again. “Why don’t you lay back for me.”

The paper on the exam table crinkles loudly as Credence lays back. Graves unfolds a pair of stirrups from the sides of the table and lifts Credence’s feet into them, one at a time. Then he turns a crank on the table, and the stirrups move wider apart. On instinct, Credence tips his knees inwards, to keep from being exposed, but Graves pushes them open again and fixes Credence with a stern look that says _Hold them there_.

“What are you going to do?” Credence asks, as Graves steps closer again, standing in the V of Credence’s splayed-wide thighs.

“I’m going to try to get you hard, and then make you come, Thomas. I’m concerned about your reproductive health, but if you can come for me, then I’ll know there’s nothing wrong. OK?”

Credence nods. Just before he tips his head down, Graves winks, and Credence feels a rush of relief.

Then he feels his cock surrounded by hot, hot wetness, and he gasps, sucking in a deep breath. Graves has his whole soft cock in his mouth, and he’s sucking gently. Credence’s cock twitches, and then it starts to thicken, which is a relief. It wasn’t sexy at all, when Graves was handling his cock earlier, and Credence had started to worry, a little, that he wouldn’t be able to get hard. The video is mostly about Graves fucking him, and Graves said when Credence asked before, when they were in the dressing room, that it would be OK if Credence got hard during the fucking, or if he didn’t. “Most people like to see a bottom getting off on it,” Graves had said, “but some people actually like the opposite, especially when it’s a doctor-patient thing. It’s a rape fantasy, for a lot of people, so if you’re uncomfortable and not into it, that’s actually what some people want to see. Like I said, this is a good first scene. You can’t go wrong, kid.”

Graves pulls off when Credence is half-hard. He stands up straight and reaches for Credence’s cock. He pushes the foreskin up and down, massaging Credence’s cock head underneath, and Credence feels himself getting harder and harder.

“Does this feel good?” Graves is rubbing his thumb on the underside of Credence’s cock, just below the head.

Credence nods, not trusting his voice.

“Good,” Graves says. “Now just let go when it comes, OK? I want you to come in my mouth, Thomas.”

And with that Graves’ mouth is all hot around him again, taking Credence in all the way to the hilt. Graves’ nose is cold pressed to the soft skin of Credence’s lower belly, but what’s even more distracting is whatever the head of Credence’s cock is bumping against inside…the back of Graves’ throat? Credence shudders, and his hips twitch, but Graves only shifts Credence’s legs from the stirrups to over his shoulders and holds him firmly down by the hips while he continues to bob his head up and all the way down around Credence’s cock, sucking hard.

Credence’s orgasm hits him like a bus, a crash that shakes his whole body and tears a loud moan from his throat. Graves swallows around him as soon as he’s spurting and keeps swallowing as Credence’s orgasm subsides and his cock is only twitching in the aftermath. Finally, Graves pulls off and lowers Credence’s legs. He doesn’t lower them back into the stirrups, but leaves them hanging off the edge instead.

“That was very good,” Graves says, and his voice is husky, an octave lower than it was before. He reaches out a hand for Credence’s and pulls Credence back up to sitting. Credence’s chest is still heaving, but Graves himself looks calm and composed.

“Now it’s time for your prostate exam, so up you get.” Graves tugs on Credence’s hand, and Credence is shaky on his feet, but Graves turns him right away and bends him over the exam table. He shoves the paper gown halfway up Credence’s back and then his gloved hand is right there, in the cleft of Credence’s buttocks, cold and slippery. Credence tenses.

“Just relax as much as you can, Thomas,” Graves soothes. “Take a deep breath in.”

Credence follows the instruction, filling up his lungs, and the paper on the table crinkles with the expansion of his lungs.

“Now let it out slowly.”

As Credence lets out his breath, Graves pushes one of his fingers inside. It feels foreign and strange and huge even though Credence knows it’s just a finger.

“Keep breathing.” Graves pulls the finger back out, and he spends a few moments rubbing just over Credence’s hole and along his cleft. He kneads at Credence’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart and rubbing between them, up and down even stopping to squeeze Credence’s balls lightly, which makes Credence jump.

Then he’s pushing in again, and it feels even bigger. Credence fails to suppress a whimper.

“Just my thumb,” Graves explains. “You’re very tight. I’m not going to be able to get in there to have a look unless you relax.”

A finger again, after Graves removes his thumb. He pushes with a little bit of force this time, straight past Credence’s resistance, and Credence grunts.

“Try to bear down, like you’re going to the toilet.”

Credence does as instructed, and the clenching tightness eases a little. Graves takes immediate advantage, pumping his finger in and out. Then he pushes it all the way inside and keeps it there, though his fingertip inside is searching around. When it grazes over something inside, pleasure floods through Credence’s pelvis. It’s drenching, and Credence clutches tighter to the edges of the exam table and twists his head from the side to press just his forehead down into the table so that he can breathe. Deep breaths as Graves circles that spot over and over.

Graves withdraws his finger, and Credence is just coming around to the fact that his cock is filling again, not hanging so limp between his legs anymore, but then there’s something cold and hard at his hole.

“Stayed relaxed please, Thomas,” Graves instructs, and the pressure builds, the hardness pressing in, invading. It grazes the spot, and Credence chokes, but Graves keeps pushing until it feels like a whole solid length of pipe is lodged up Credence’s ass.

Credence trembles as Graves presses his fingers around where the thing meets his rim. Graves rubs and makes minor adjustments: tucking there, twisting the thing a little, easing a fingertip in alongside it and edging that fingertip around, perhaps to be sure there’s no caught skin. Credence prickles all over with cold sweat, and his hands hurt from how hard he’s clutching to the table, and then it gets worse. The thing is _expanding_ , stretching the skin of his rim tight and stretching inside too.

“You’re doing so well, Thomas,” Graves soothes, and he rubs one of his hands along Credence’s side. “I just need to get a little look inside, to make sure everything’s all right.”

Credence hears a click, and it might be a flashlight. A few minutes pass with Graves massaging his ass around the…thing. Halfway through he pauses to spread it wider, and Credence’s whimper is a pathetic thing that he tries to muffle into the table.

“Shhh,” Graves soothes. “It’s OK. Your tight little hole is opening so beautifully. Just another minute.”

Graves doesn’t collapse the thing before he pulls it out, and it feels huge at the last second it’s still inside, holding Credence’s rim wide open. As soon as it’s gone, Graves’ fingers are back with more cold slippery stuff. He uses two fingers to work it deep into Credence’s hole, and he closes his free hand, also slick, around Credence’s cock, which is gone entirely soft again.

“Do you think you can get hard again for me, Thomas?”

Credence twists to look back at Graves. “Doctor?”

Graves searches for that spot inside and starts massaging it. Credence chokes and has to close his eyes and press his forehead to the table to brace himself. He _is_ getting hard. Graves works at that spot inside and rubs his thumb over the slit in Credence’s cock head, and soon his cock is throbbing and jutting straight out, almost curving up high enough to touch his belly.

“There we are.” Graves pulls his fingers free.

Credence hears the rustling of fabric and twists around again. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m going to fuck your tight little hole, Thomas,” Graves says softly. He’s pushed his scrubs down around his knees, and his cock is in his hand, thick and long and hard. “I’m going to fuck you open.”

“B– But you’re my doctor,” Credence protests weakly, looking down at the table again. It doesn’t look remotely possible for that cock to fit inside Credence’s ass, no matter how much Graves has already stretched it.

“Which is why no one will believe you if you tell them,” Graves says, voice still soft as silk. “But you wouldn’t tell anyway, would you?” Graves reaches out and rubs his thumb in Credence’s crack, letting it catch on his hole, then letting it slip in a little on the next stroke.

“I don’t think you should be f– fucking your patients,” Credence stutters.

“I’m not, Thomas.” Graves pulls back on Credence hips, and Credence feels Graves’ cock hot on his lower back. “Just you,” Graves adds, using one hand on Credence’s hip to hold him still while he guides the head of his cock to Credence’s hole with the other.

Credence clenches on instinct, but the pressure of Graves’ cock only increases. When the head pushes just past the first tight ring, it feels like being torn apart.

“Doctor, it hurts.”

“It’s OK,” Graves soothes. He doesn’t stop. He pushes in another inch. “Just relax.”

Credence whimpers. Another inch of cock presses in, but then in the space between Credence’s pained exhale and his next breath, the pressing turns to withdrawal. It’s a slow withdrawal, but within a few seconds Graves’ cock is free. His fingers return with more slick.

“Relax,” Graves pushes the head of his cock in again, and Credence bites down on his lip, but his whimper escapes anyway. “Deep breaths.” He pushes in further. “I know you can open up for me. Just let me in.”

Graves lets go of the base of his cock and reaches over, curling his arm around Credence’s waist so that he can tug sharply to force his cock in further. When he relaxes his arm, Credence moves forward again, his instincts pulling him away from the cock that’s splitting him open. They build a rhythm that way: Graves tightening his hold and pulling Credence back, then relaxing to let Credence pitch forward again.

Until Graves doesn’t relax his hold. He grips tighter. “You’re going to open for me a little more, Thomas. I need to get all the way inside.” He’s pushing again, and the burn of the stretch is almost unbearable, but finally Graves’ hips are pressing hard against Credence’s ass. He’s all the way inside, huge and hot and still painful, but it can’t get any worse.

“So tight,” Graves croons. He presses and releases his hips without pulling out at all, fucking without fucking, and Credence feels himself relaxing in tiny increments. When Graves does pull out, he doesn’t pull out all the way. The head stays inside, but it’s an impossibly long slide, and then he pushes it all back in again, and Credence shudders.

Graves goes slow for a long time. Slow withdrawals, slow strokes back in, sometimes grinding in deep before pulling out again. He doesn’t start fucking properly until Credence has stopped clutching white-knuckled to the exam table and has folded his arms as a rest for his head instead.

The fucking goes on for a long time. Graves varies things a little. He’ll stop and pull out and use his fingers sometimes; sometimes with more slick, and sometimes just because, as far as Credence can tell. He uses his feet to nudge Credence’s feet farther apart and puts his palms on the twin globes of Credence’s ass, spreading them wide as he drags his cock along Credence’s cleft. He teases at Credence’s hole with the head of his cock before shoving it all back in in a long smooth slide and fucking fast and furious, skin slapping against skin.

But when he pulls out all the way again, it’s different. He pulls at Credence’s ribs, and Credence stands, swaying.

“Hop back up,” Graves says, holding Credence steady. “I want to finish face-to-face.”

Credence sits on the exam table again and lays back, then scoots forward until his ass is at the edge, at Graves’ beckoning hand.

“You’re not hard anymore.”

It’s true: Credence lost his erection in the pain of the initial penetration. “I’m sorry, doctor.”

“It’s no matter to me,” Graves says simply. “Spread your legs and put your feet back in the stirrups.”

Credence’s legs are trembling as he positions them. He curls his toes around the stirrups and closes his eyes. Somehow he feels many times more exposed than before, with his hole slick and clenching rhythmically around the now-strange emptiness inside.

“Wider, Thomas,” Graves growls, and then he’s pushing in roughly, and Credence’s knees fold in of their own accord. Graves pushes them back apart and pounds into Credence. From this angle, it feels like Graves’ cock is going to push up into his throat, hot and hard and punishing. Graves’ eyes are fixed on where his cock is pistoning in and out, and after a few minutes, he’s breathing hard, almost panting, and his rhythm starts to falter.

Each thrust while Graves is coming is like an earthquake—bone-shattering.

When Graves finally pulls out, Credence doesn’t move a muscle. He flinches when Graves’ fingers are there again, pressing just a bit inside.

“What are you doing?” Credence asks quietly.

Graves pulls his hand away like he’s just touched a hot stove. He strips off his gloves and throws them in the sink. “Put your clothes back on, Thomas.” He turns away. “Your exam is done.”

* * *

A crew member hands Graves both of their robes, and Credence takes the one Graves hands him without saying a word. He’s already scooted off the exam table, though he’s leaning against it as he stands, as if he doesn’t quite trust his legs.

“You know where the showers are, right?” Graves asks.

Credence shakes his head.

“Ah, well, I’ll show you. Or you can have one in my dressing room instead, if you like.”

Graves lets Credence have the first shower, in fact. It seems only fair, since the kid has got an ass full of his come.

Credence is flushed pink when he steps out of the shower, and better yet, he actually looks happier. A bit more relaxed, and as Graves lets his eyes track up and down in his assessment, he lets it happen, no longer shrinking in on himself under the attention.

Or at least not until Graves says, “Don’t run off, OK? I wanna take you out to dinner. Celebrate your first shoot.”

“No, no,” Credence says, “you don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to. Please. I know you don’t have to be anywhere. You were supposed to shoot at three.”

Credence still looks hesitant, and Graves isn’t sure how far to push. “You don’t have to, seriously. But I’d really like for you to join me. Think about it while I clean up, if you want.”

Credence does come to dinner, in the end. Graves has to coax him to order more than a cup of soup, but he doesn’t have to coax him into cleaning his plate, thankfully. Graves chats at him between bites of his own burger and fries, just empty talk to make the kid feel less self-conscious, but his mind is mostly on what happens next. There’s a conversation that needs to be had, and Credence isn’t going to like it.

“Do you mind if we go for a little drive?” Graves asks when they get back into his car after dinner. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“About what?” Credence asks.

“About what we did today,” Graves admits.

Credence shifts in his seat. Squirms, really. “Are you going to try to convince me to stop?” he asks.

“Not exactly.” Graves was hoping to get Credence to come to that conclusion himself, in the best possible scenario.

“What then?” Credence shifts some more, pulling his knees up to hug them to his chest, then dropping them again with a groan.

“You seem really uncomfortable, maybe–“

“Is it normal for it to feel like this after?” Credence blurts out.

“What? Feel like what?”

Credence blushes bright red. “It burns.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere down there.”

“No, Credence, that’s not normal.” Credence covers his face with his hands and lets out a sob, so Graves cuts in, “But I can probably help. Do you mind if we go to my apartment, so you can show me? I have a cream that will probably help.”

Credence is obviously uncomfortable in Graves’ apartment, shuffling out of his shoes immediately and stepping gingerly behind Graves to the master bath. He’s not reluctant to disrobe in front of Graves though, which is something. Graves has seen it all before, of course, but it didn’t look like this. There’s an angry red rash everywhere in his nether regions: cock, balls, ass, and it even spreads a little way up his lower belly and lower back.

Credence has his eyes shut tight while Graves inspects the damage, and a tear slips down his cheek.

Graves rummages in the first aid kit. “It itches and burns, yes?”

Credence mumbles a _Yes_ and sniffles.

“I have hydrocortisone,” Graves holds up the tube. “It’s an anti-itch cream. Do you want me to apply it?”

Credence nods, and Graves washes his hands before starting at the back, working from Credence’s lower back, down his ass, and then around front to cover his cock and balls and belly, keeping his touch as firmly clinical as possible. Credence hardly breathes the whole time.

Graves screws the cap back on the tube of cream when he’s done, washes his hands, and sits on the edge of the bathtub.

“Credence, look at me.”

Credence gaze is watery.

“If I supposed that you’re thinking now that this–“ Graves waves at Credence’s nethers, “is God’s punishment, I wouldn’t be wrong, would I?”

Credence shrugs, then glares a little, with an unexpected defiance. “It makes sense.”

“No,” Graves tries to exhale all his frustration. “What makes sense is that you got waxed for the first time a couple days ago, and then an awful lot of friction was applied to your still very sensitive skin. It’s just a natural biological reaction. A skin irritation. There’s no need for any kind of divine explanation.”

“You don’t think what we did was wrong?”

“I need a drink for this,” Graves mutters. “And we could both be more comfortable. Don’t put your jeans back on. Your skin needs to breathe. I’ll get you some sweatpants.”

Credence is swimming in Graves’ sweatpants. He has to roll over the waist to keep them up because the drawstring is long since disappeared to the land of missing socks, so he rolls over the waist twice, and the pants fall six inches above his ankles. Graves pours himself a whisky, but Credence will only accept tea. He cradles the mug gingerly and hardly looks up from it as Graves resumes the tough conversation.

“I don’t think making porn is wrong,” Graves starts, “to answer your question. Even filming rape fantasies like a doctor abusing his patient. It’s just fantasy. But that said, I’m not sure that I did _nothing_ wrong today, myself. I fucked you, and I know you want the money, and I respect that, but I fucked you, and I know it hurt–“

“That doesn’t matter,” Credence breaks in.

“It matters to me.”

“I told you I’m not afraid of pain.”

“I think that just makes me feel worse, Credence.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Graves pauses for a swallow of whisky. The burn of it is only a small comfort. “I guess because you seem to expect pain from the world, and I don’t think that’s right, but all I did today is confirm your expectations.”

Credence is silent for a minute or so. “It wasn’t that bad,” he starts quietly. “You’re right that it hurt at first, but after a while it was just sort of…uncomfortable. I’ve been through far worse.”

“Like what?”

“Nevermind,” Credence says in a rush, “I should go now. I should get back.”

Graves doesn’t let Credence leave without the hydrocortisone and Graves’ cell phone number. “Call me if you need _anything_ ,” he urges, even as Credence’s eyes flit towards the door. “Any time of day or night.”

* * *

“Grindelwald is _furious_ ,” Sera says, “but I’m happy as a clam.”

Graves and Credence’s first video is up already, and the clicks are rolling in. Graves watched it, out of curiosity, and because as a craftsman, he’s always looking for ways to improve his work. It’s exactly like he told Credence: all of Credence’s awkwardness and hesitation really sell the thing. He’s magnetic from the beginning, when he whimpers at the touch of the cold stethoscope to his nipple, and when Graves’ doctor slowly stretches his hole with a speculum, then fucks it open with his cock, all his discomfort and pain are just enough, which is to say: not too much. Not too extreme or too pathetic, which for all but a certain niche segment of viewers would throw them out of the fantasy.

“I don’t want him working with Grindelwald.”

“Perfect,” Sera replies. “Neither do I. They’re already clamoring for more of you two together. I was thinking incest next. Father and son. He’s got such a young angel face. Which you definitely will need to fuck.”

* * *

Credence is wearing a ridiculous pair of footed pajamas made out of something soft and fuzzy and designed to make him look much younger than his eighteen years. There’s a panel that opens to expose his cock and ass, but Graves won’t need to open it for a while.

Credence is pretending to be asleep, his head pillowed on Graves’ lap and his legs curled up. Graves strokes through his hair and runs the backs of his fingers down his cheek. Then he strokes one fingertip across the seam of Credence’s lips, and Credence lets them open with a sleepy sigh. Graves pushes into Credence’s mouth with one finger, then two, stroking along Credence’s tongue and listening to the pace of his breathing pick up. His other arm wanders to Credence’s ass, rubbing and kneading.

“Daddy?” Credence lifts his head, blinking rapidly.

“Sit up for a minute,” Graves murmurs. He shoves his sweatpants and boxers down while Credence moves to kneel beside him. He’s already completely hard thanks to a fluffer, and he gives himself a couple of strokes before reaching for Credence’s hand and placing it at the base of his cock.

“Do you want to make Daddy feel real good, baby?” he croons.

Credence nods, and Graves pulls his head down gently.

“Start by giving it a little kiss.”

Credence does as he’s told and presses a quick chaste kiss to the tip of Graves’ cock.

“Now lick it. Find out what it tastes like.”

Credence laps at the head.

“Good, that’s good,” Graves encourages. “Don’t forget the slit.”

Credence runs his tongue along the slit and licks his lips afterwards.

“Taste good?”

Credence nods, probably not trusting himself to speak.

“Okay, now be a really good boy and open your mouth as wide as you can. Take as much of Daddy in your mouth as you can.”

Credence gives halfway decent head, for a complete newbie. His gag reflex kicks in predictably, but Graves soothes him through it, petting his hair while he rests, panting, before trying again. There’s a camera down between Graves’ spread legs, and Credence has a very pretty mouth, so despite the lack of depth—and finesse—Graves is pretty sure that they’re making another hit.

“Okay, Daddy’s getting close,” Graves says as he pulls Credence off his cock. Credence looks a bit dazed, and he goes easily when Graves turns him around and unbuttons the silly flap. “Now it’s time to get you ready.”

Credence chokes on a moan when Graves spreads his cheeks and dives right in, tongue rubbing straight over his hole. Graves is happy to keep at it as long as Credence keeps the soundtrack going: gasps and moans and a high whine when Graves wriggles his tongue just past the rim, once Credence has relaxed enough.

“Now just stay relaxed, kiddo,” Graves says after a parting kiss in the middle of one cheek. He strokes his fingers along Credence’s crack, spreading lube and stopping every so often to dip the tip of a finger inside. Credence starts to squirm, maybe even with impatience, so on the next pass Graves pushes in with two fingers twisted together and reaches around inside the pajamas for Credence’s cock, which he finds rock hard. It pulses in his hand, and as Graves starts massaging Credence’s prostate, he cups his palm over the head to feel Credence starting to leak.

“So good for me,” Graves says. “You’re getting all nice and wet.”

Credence’s cock twitches violently. “Daddy, I–“

Graves pulls his fingers out. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I think I’m going to come, Daddy.”

“Not without me inside you, baby.” Graves scrambles to get in position and lube up his cock, and Credence is more relaxed this time. It’s not easy to push in, but it’s _easier_ , and Graves manages it in one slow thrust.

“Now, baby.” Graves bends over to get an arm around Credence’s chest to pin him hard in the cradle of his hips. “You can come now.” He resumes stroking Credence with his free hand, focusing on the head, and Credence whimpers and buries his face in the arm of the sofa when he comes.

“Good boy, that’s it, come for daddy,” Graves murmurs as Credence’s cock pulses over and over in his fist. “Let it all out.”

When Credence is done, Graves rearranges him. Instead of on all fours, he puts Credence flat on his belly, legs together, and straddles him from above.

“Now it’s Daddy’s turn to finish, so just stay still, baby,” Graves instructs. Credence still whimpers when Graves pushes in. He’s probably oversensitive now, but there’s nothing to be done about that. When Graves gets a rhythm going, Credence jerks at the first hard thrust, but Graves leans over, grinding deep and pressing down just below the base of Credence’s neck. After one single sob-like sound, Credence goes quiet and pliant.

It’s a long fuck because Graves knows there’s at least ten minutes left to fill. He varies the rhythm and his angle and honestly lets his mind wander a bit, because this is the kind of fuck he could do in his sleep.

When the director signals to wrap it up, Graves starts talking about it before it’s even true: “Oh, baby, I’m going to come now. I’m going to come in your tight little hole.” He’s got control like that: thirty more seconds, and it _is_ true.

There’s a wider interval between thrusts when Graves is coming, and each one is powerful, but Credence only reaches a hand back to close his fingers around Graves’ wrist where Graves is still pinning him down. His hold is gentle, just an acknowledgment, and Graves doesn’t know if it’s Credence acting or just Credence. After he’s done grinding through the aftershocks, Graves moves his hand, dislodging Credence’s hold, and bends to kiss the spot.

“Oh,” Credence exclaims softly, and Graves knows immediately the kiss is a liberty he shouldn’t have taken.

The director yells “Cut!” before Graves has had a chance to pull out. Which means Graves has to acknowledge it.

“Hey, I’m gonna pull out now, OK?”

Credence pushes up onto one elbow. “Yeah, OK.”

Credence holds his breath while Graves eases himself out and then lets it out in a rush and immediately tries to push up onto all fours.

“Just a second, kid. I shot quite a load there, sorry. It’s a mess. Lemme get a wet wipe for you.”

Credence could handle it himself, of course, and most other actors would probably let him, but Graves has always hated this part of this damned profession. There’s no…aftermath. No recovery. And sometimes that’s just something you need after sex, even when you’re doing it for money.

Credence shivers when Graves wipes away the semen and lube as best he can before gravity takes care of the rest, and Credence accepts his help stripping out of the stupid onesie and into a robe. Graves shouldn’t tie the sash for him or reach out to rub Credence’s upper arms briskly, but he does, because Credence looks cold and a little lost.

Credence agrees to Graves’ offer of the first shower in exchange for letting Graves take him out to dinner again. Or at least he nods and follows Graves to his dressing room.

* * *

Credence has no idea why Graves wants to buy him a meal again, but he’s too weak-willed—and hungry—to turn down the offer. Or the company.

“Why did you start doing…what we do?” Credence asks, after they’ve ordered.

“You mean why did I need the money?”

Credence nods.

“I guess that’s a fair question.”

“Will you tell me?”

“I used to be a policeman.” Graves pauses and starts fiddling with his paper napkin. “There was this domestic. Domestics are always bad and crazy, any cop will tell you that, but they also get under your skin, at least if you’re a halfway decent cop. And this one got under mine. Husband beating his wife. He put her in the hospital twice. Second time with a concussion. Third time I got the call, I threw protocol out the window. Got kicked off the force and sued for every penny I had, and then some.”

Credence doesn’t quite know what his face is doing, but apparently it isn’t good.

“You’re looking at me like– I didn’t _kill_ him. Barely landed a couple of punches. But it was rash and illegal, and completely fucking pointless, in the end.”

“What happened?” Credence asks, almost in a whisper.

“He killed her a year later. Then tried to kill himself by drinking a gallon of antifreeze. He’s blind now, but still alive, unfortunately. Behind bars, fortunately, but that doesn’t make her any less dead.”

Credence doesn’t know what to say.

“Why do you need the money?” Graves asks gently, after a minute of silence has stretched between them. “Your church. Don’t people give money? What’s that word… tithe?”

“Ma adopted me,” Credence starts to explain. “I’m not one of God’s chosen children. I can only hope to save myself through a life of service and penance.”

“What does that have to do with the money?”

“The money is for the chosen. Before I turned eighteen, Ma got money from the government for fostering me, and that was enough for my expenses. But now–“

“Now she makes you pay.”

Credence nods.

“For what, rent? Food?”

Credence nods again.

“Why don’t you just move out on your own?”

Credence wants to disappear. And he doesn’t want to answer the question. The truth is too hard, too shameful. But Graves is kind, and his eyes are hard to look away from. Warm. Maybe he’ll know another way.

“I want to be saved.”

“In the…chosen by Jesus, go to heaven after you die kind of way?”

Credence nods, then lets out everything in a single breath, or nearly: “I know I won’t be. I’m wicked, and I do wicked things, and I was born of wickedness and sin, but I just don’t want to give up hope. I can’t.” The last comes out a bit too loudly, and a couple of heads turn in their direction. Credence feels his face heat with shame, and then he feels Graves fingers stroking the back of his hand before they curl around his wrist. Graves must be able to feel his heartbeat’s thunder.

“Shh,” Graves says softly. “It’s OK.”

* * *

Graves agrees to drop Credence off at the top of the dirt road that leads down into camp. It’s a mile’s walk, but Graves seems to understand why it can’t be any other way. He pulls over and kills the engine, and then he’s leaning forward over the wheel to look up at the sky. The sun is starting to set, and the sky is vivid reds and oranges and purples.

“Fuck me, I never get tired of desert sunsets. Do you have a few more minutes? We could sit on the roof and watch it.”

Credence hugs his knees and thinks more about the man sitting next to him, solid and warm, than the pretty colors in the sky.

“Is there kissing in porn?” Credence finds the courage to ask. This whole moment feels unreal and out of time anyway; Credence has never done something as idle as watch the sun sink below the horizon before.

“Yeah, sure, sometimes,” Graves answers immediately. Then he turns to follow up, “Why are you asking?”

Credence turns his head and lays his cheek on his knee. This way Graves is sort of sideways and out of proportion like in a funhouse mirror, so it’s easier to tell him the truth.

“It seems like it’d be nice.”

Graves reaches out a hand and strokes the backs of his fingers over Credence’s cheek, then pushes a strand of hair behind his ear.

“You’ve never been kissed, have you, kid.”

It’s not really a question that way Graves says it, but Credence answers anyway. “No.”

“Do you want me to kiss you now?”

Credence sits up again. “You’d do that?”

“If I’m going to be the first person to kiss you, I’d much rather do it when we’re not filming.”

“Oh.”

“And it’s also not a hardship, trust me. You have a gorgeous mouth.”

Graves curls a hand around Credence’s neck and leans in until they’re forehead to forehead.

“Yes?” Graves asks, dropping his eyes to Credence’s mouth.

“Please,” Credence whispers, and the end of the word is caught in Graves’ lips.

The first few kisses are slow and gentle. Graves shifts each one slightly, finding all the best angles. Then he kisses the corner of Credence’s mouth, and his cheek, and his temple, and he asks, “More?”

“Yes.” Credence reaches to put a hand on the side of Graves’ face, holding his jaw, and Graves sweeps his thumb along Credence’s bottom lip.

“Open your mouth a little for me, this time,” Graves says before he ducks back in.

The words are a bit of a jolt. They’re a bit like what Graves says on camera. “Open up for me” and “let me in” and such things. Credence relaxes his mouth, and Graves’ tongue sweeps inside, and it’s so much better than the kisses before: hot and wet and a little bit overwhelming. When Graves pulls back a little, Credence pushes up and chases his mouth. It’s open and inviting, and Credence dips his own tongue inside to sweep over Graves’ teeth and lick the roof of his mouth. Graves hums his approval, and Credence tries to press closer, and that’s when he realizes: he’s getting hard.

When Credence pulls away, Graves seems to think he’s just overwhelmed. He puts his arm around Credence’s shoulders and encourages Credence to lean into him, tucking Credence’s head under his chin after pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He strokes his fingers up and down Credence’s bicep and looks out at the setting sun.

“Have a good night,” Graves calls when Credence is starting down the road. Credence can’t find it in himself to pretend that such a thing might be possible, so he just raises a hand to wave Graves off.

* * *

After their second scene is released, Graves and Credence’s popularity only continues to rise. They shoot an outdoor scene, and a sports massage that turns into fingering and fucking, and another father-son thing that’s pretty vanilla—just mutual blow jobs and fucking on a plain old bed—except that the pretense is that mom is home, and so they have to be very, very quiet. It’s during this scene that Graves first puts Credence on his back and folds him in half. He cups one hand behind Credence’s head to help him support it, and Credence wraps his legs around Graves’ ribs, and it must be that Graves’ cock is hitting Credence’s prostate over and over because Credence struggles to stay silent and comes untouched, shooting an impressive load all over his belly.

The showers-and-dinner routine stays the same too, and the second time Graves drops Credence at the top of the dirt road, he adds something new to the routine by leaning over to kiss Credence softly. He leaves it up to Credence to deepen the kiss, but Credence does, opening his mouth in an invitation for Graves to kiss him deeply. So Graves does.

It’s not like they’re dating. That’s definitely not what’s going on, but if pressed Graves probably couldn’t explain it well, except perhaps to say that it’s very simple, sort of. One: Credence enjoys kissing. He enjoys it to the point that Graves spends more time kissing Credence at the top of the road than he spent necking in cars in the entirety of his teenage years, or at least that’s what it feels like. Credence heads down the road with stubble burn from Graves’ five o’clock shadow blooming red all around his mouth more often than not, and Graves’ own lips end up nearly numb. Sometimes his jaw aches. Two: Credence has very few pleasures in this world, and if Graves can give him the simple pleasure of a goodnight kiss without any strings attached, then why the hell not?

* * *

The concept this time is student-teacher, and it’s a classroom set. Graves is supposed to be a chemistry teacher, so there’s beakers and Bunsen burners on the counter. One of the beakers is half-full of blue liquid that reminds Graves of the blue liquid that always takes the place of blood in menstrual product commercials. Graves snickers into his hand and then calms himself. He puts on the teacher glasses he’s been given and gets a pair of gloves ready.

Graves knows that Credence is accustomed to all manner of things in his hole, by this point. And he can feel the difference inside. Credence relaxes on command and doesn’t clench except for effect, when he wants to. But damn if the kid hasn’t learned how to put on a good show.

Predictably, the story in this scene is teacher-punishes-wayward-student, so it starts a little rough. Graves shoves Credence down over his desk and pulls his jeans and underwear to his knees. There’s a mortar and pestle on the desk with the other assorted contents of a preteen’s Christmas chemistry set, and it’s the pestle that Credence takes first, lubed up discreetly so as not to break the illusion.

After the pestle, Graves gloves up and presses in with two fingers, fast and hard. Credence whimpers and moans, and Graves twists and scissors his fingers, and it’s in a split second that suddenly everything starts to feel wrong. Graves notices first how Credence has closed his eyes, and how his sounds—moans and groans—somehow don’t seem like acting anymore. Then he notices how Credence’s skin has gone blotchy—all over his ass and a bit up his back. Credence is fair and flushes unevenly sometimes, but Graves has only seen the flushing before on his neck and chest. Graves removes his fingers, and Credence doesn’t even react.

“Credence?”

In the distance, Graves hears, “What the fuck, Graves” and then “Cut!”

Graves bends over to where Credence’s face is pressed to the desk, to look him in the eye. Something is _definitely_ wrong. Credence’s eyes are half-open now, but unfocused.

“Credence, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Credence says slowly. “Feel weird. Bad.”

Graves maneuvers Credence upright, helps him get rid of his jeans and underwear when he almost trips in the tangle, then strips off the gloves and puts his hand on Credence’s forehead. He’s burning up, and the blotches are everywhere now: face, neck, chest. Some of them are swelling into raised, jagged-edged patches.

“Has this ever happened before?”

Credence shakes his head. He tries to take a deep breath but only wheezes. “Help me,” he whispers pitifully, “Can’t breathe.”

“Someone call 9-1-1!” Graves shouts.

Credence is leaning heavily on Graves when the paramedics arrive, panting shallowly into Graves’ neck. They don’t ask that many questions after Graves explains that Credence is having trouble breathing. They seem inordinately preoccupied with dealing with the nakedness of Credence’s lower half before they put him on the gurney, but they get a mask on his face quickly, and Graves can see how Credence is breathing easier even after half a minute. They inject him with something too—he flinches away from the needle in the meat of his tricep and whimpers again when they lay him flat on his back and strap him down for the ambulance journey.

At the hospital, the admissions desk is, much to Graves’ surprise, quite interested in letting him back, but he doesn’t get to see Credence right away.

Credence’s doctor is about Graves’ age. Petite and dark-haired, with dark circles under her eyes that Graves supposes are the trademark feature of many who work in the ER. Her scrubs are blue, and her nails are clipped short and painted a dull mauve. She introduces herself as Doctor Renfield, confirms that Graves is Credence’s coworker—with a side of, “Credence Bareone _is_ his real name, right?”—and then asks if he’d mind a private conversation in her office.

Her office is labeled, “Director, Emergency Department.”

“First, Mr. Graves, let me assure you that Mr. Barebone is going to recover completely. He had an anaphylactic reaction, which is to say… a very severe allergic reaction. I’d like your help in going over the circumstances surrounding his reaction today; it’s possible we’ll be able to identify the allergy quite easily from the circumstances, but first there’s something else I’d like to discuss.”

Graves is starting to feel a little nervous, starting to sweat a little under his collar: this feels like it might be building towards some kind of accusation. Credence is eighteen and legal, he’s sure of it, but he definitely _looks_ younger, and if this doc is hell-bent on some savior mission…

“Forgive me if this question seems naive given your—and Mr. Barebone’s—line of work, but as a healthcare worker I’m a mandatory reporter, so I have to ask. Were all of Mr. Barebone’s injuries incurred through your work together?”

“Injuries?”

“His back?” Dr. Renfield prompts.

“His back?” Graves echoes.

Dr. Renfield reaches for a tablet on her desk and taps until she gets to what she wants, then hands it over. “Our documentation, in case we have to file the report.”

It’s pictures of Credence, lying on his side in a hospital gown that ties in the back but has been opened. His back from shoulders to the bottom of his ribs is a criss-cross of red stripes. On the left there’s two bruises: one small and very dark, and the other six inches up and more diffuse.

“I didn’t know about this,” Graves says. His own voice sounds far away, and then it _clicks_. “Oh _fuck_ , he asked me today if he could keep his shirt on during our scene.”

“So he’s hiding it from you.”

“Probably.” Graves can’t quite stop from flipping through the pictures, over and over. “What–“

“Pinned down by someone wearing a heeled boot and belted, is my educated guess,” the doctor responds. “How well do you know him?”

“Better than anyone else, probably, but that’s not saying much. He’s new to the industry, and I’ve taken him under my wing, I suppose.”

“Does he have a boyfriend?” After a pause, she adds, “Or girlfriend?”

“No,” Graves replies, and it almost feels like a lie. “Until he turned eighteen recently, he was a foster kid with those Salem Church folks. He still lives with them, but they make him pay his room and board now, which is why he turned up to start making porn. I think they try to squeeze him for every dime they can get from him, if you want my opinion.”

“Has he told you much about his foster family?”

Graves shakes his head. “You know what I know, at this point.” There’s Tina’s suspicions, but Graves has no idea where she came to her ideas, and he might not be a cop anymore, but some training never fades.

“When he’s stable, we’re going to have to talk to him about who assaulted him. It can be helpful to have some support there, for the victim. It’ll be his choice, of course, but if you think he might be open to it, I’m more than happy to suggest that you join us for the conversation.”

“Sure. Only if he wants, but sure.”

“Now as to the matter of the allergy. You were there as it happened, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Can you describe what you observed?”

It isn’t often that Graves actually feels embarrassed about making porn for a living, but this is definitely one of those times. “You’re going to have to forgive a certain amount of, ah, explicit content.”

“I’m aware of that.” The doctor presses her lips together, perhaps hiding a bit of a smile. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Mr. Graves, and we are in my private office.”

Graves takes a deep breath. There’s nothing for it but to tell it like it happened: the student–teacher concept, the pestle, the gloved-up fingering and how Credence started reacting soon after that started.

“How often is this anal fingering part of your scenes?”

“Almost always,” Graves answers.

“And that’s how often?”

“Oh, we film once a week or so.”

“And you always wear gloves?”

“No, only when it’s–“ Graves stops himself just short of saying ‘medical kink’, then flounders for a non-mortifying way to get the point across. “We only use gloves in certain scenarios.”

“Have you used them before, with Mr. Barebone?”

“Yes, in the first scene we did together. Oh, fuck me. He got a nasty rash after that. I gave him hydrocortisone, figured it was just that he was new to waxing and irritated from all the...friction. Rashes are pretty common.”

“I’ll bet,” Dr. Renfield says, tamping down another smirk. “Now, let me guess. These are your bog-standard latex gloves?”

“I think so. Wait, you think this was just a latex allergy?”

“There’s nothing ‘just’ about an anaphylactic reaction. It’s life-threatening. It’s not terribly common with a latex allergy, but it’s far from unheard of, and we’ll have to confirm with Mr. Barebone when he’s ready to discuss his medical history, but I suspect we’ve just hit the nail on the head. The timing sounds like it fits quite well: a small number of exposures with worsening symptoms.”

* * *

When Credence wakes up, he’s on his side under a couple of heavy blankets, and he has no idea where he is. The stripes on his back remind him of their existence as soon as he shifts a little, so he knows he’s not dreaming, but he still doesn’t know where he _is_. He looks around as best he can without rolling over and quickly determines _hospital_. Then his eyes land on Graves, sitting in a chair in the far corner, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

“Graves?” His voice comes out as a croak.

Graves opens his eyes immediately, but it takes him a few moments to gain full alertness. He scoots his chair next to the bed and reaches out to touch Credence’s forehead. This turns into a pretense of rearranging Credence’s hair, and Credence feels warm inside.

“How are you feeling, kid?”

“Okay, I guess.” Credence can’t mention how sore his back is, of course.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Credence nods. “Am I fired?”

“No! Jesus, no. You can’t help an allergic reaction. Sera’s not going to let you go for something like that. Not to mention it would be illegal.”

“Allergic reaction?”

“To latex, they think, but you should wait for the doctor to explain.”

“Credence,” Graves says softly, and he reaches for Credence again. He curls his fingers around Credence’s wrist just like that day in the diner. “There’s something I want to tell you before the doctor comes.” He pauses. “They talked to me about what happened since they needed some details, and they had some other questions. They asked me about what happened to your back.”

Credence wants to curl up into a ball, but that will hurt, and Graves’ grip on his wrist is a small comfort too. A comfort worth keeping, for the moment. “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing,” Graves says, “because I don’t know what happened, but I thought I should warn you that they are going to ask.”

“Why? It’s just– It’ll heal.”

“Credence, they have to tell the police, if it wasn’t consensual.”

“Maybe it was,” Credence protests weakly.

“Maybe,” Graves agrees.

It’s the way Graves gives Credence that _Maybe_ that convinces Credence not to lie to Dr. Renfield and the social worker, strangely enough. Graves’ _Maybe_ was permission: permission to lie, to make up some story about a secret boyfriend and a predilection for BDSM. Credence knows enough to make up such a story now—and even make it sound convincing. But Graves would know it was a lie, and Credence would know that Graves knew, and the guilt would be horrible: a guilt over not just lying but having the one person in his life that’s always been truly honest with him know that he’s lied.

And besides: Credence does want things to change.

So he tells them it was Ma, and they ask a lot more questions. _When? How often? Always the belt? What else? Anyone else?_

The one thing they don’t ask is _why_.

Graves doesn’t ask either, when they have the room to themselves again. Credence takes a dose of the medicine they’ve given him to keep the allergy at bay and eats the hospital lunch that’s gone cold. It sits like lead in his stomach.

“What are you going to do when they release you?” Graves asks.

Credence shrugs and picks at the blanket covering his legs, not looking up. The social worker left a couple of pamphlets. One is for a shelter. It’s probably a good idea. They explained how it would be safer for Credence not to be there when the police follow up, and Credence _gets_ that. He’s never going to be safe with Ma again, if the police have to release her. Not that he was ever safe with her to begin with.

“Can I offer a suggestion?”

“Sure.”

Graves settles from his pacing and sits in the chair beside Credence’s bed again.

“I have a spare bedroom, and I’d be happy to let you stay for as long as you need. I can help you look for an apartment and get settled.”

Credence looks away, looks down at the blanket and his own pale hands. Graves is… Dangerous, in a way. He offers exactly what Credence wants: a safe place, with someone he trusts. The _only_ person he trusts. And that can’t come without a price. Nothing good has ever come to Credence without Credence paying a heavy price for it. Credence got off the streets, but it was _Ma_ who took him in. Credence got a job to start paying down his debts, but the job was giving up his body, letting it be used.

When Credence looks up again and blinks, hot tears spill down his cheeks. Graves moves to sit on the edge of the bed and wraps Credence up. He’s careful about it, not forgetting about the mess of Credence’s back. He holds Credence’s head under his chin with one hand on the back of his neck, and his other arm stays low around Credence’s hips.

“It’s OK,” Graves whispers into Credence’s hair. “It’s going to be OK.”

* * *

Graves picks his battles with Credence around the house. He lets Credence handle the dishes, but he sneaks around to gather up the laundry without Credence noticing so that he can do it himself.

Mary Lou Barebone was arrested, then released on bail. Credence has been assigned an advocate, but the trial is going to be…a trial. Graves is just happy that Credence hasn’t insisted on going back, and doubly happy that he’s been seeing a psychologist. She’s one of several specialists in domestic abuse at a not-for-profit clinic, recommended in pamphlet form by the social worker at the hospital, and Credence easily makes enough money through MACUSA to pay her sliding scale fee.

The psychologist means there are some bad days. Days when Credence curls in on himself again and watches hour after hour of bad daytime television, and Graves doesn’t really know what to do except to give him space.

The worst day is the day that Credence doesn’t move from the couch for something like ten hours, and Graves is getting really fucking tired of hearing the _Friends_ theme, and so he pours himself a couple of fat fingers of whisky as soon as the sun is down.

“Can I have some?”

Graves general approach has always been to respect Credence’s choices, so he can’t stop now. “Help yourself,” he answers, waving to the bottle of Johnnie Walker Black.

Credence chokes on his first sip, but he’s bolder on the second, tossing a big gulp down the hatch as quick as he can. He makes a face, but he doesn’t set the glass aside, and Graves watches with mounting dread. There’s no way this is going anywhere good.

Graves stays up because there _is_ possibly going to be a point when separating Credence from the bottle is going to be the responsible thing to do, letting the kid make his own bad choices be damned. Credence has so far just been interested in getting quietly drunk, drunk until he can’t hold himself up in a sitting position and has practically melted into the couch cushions, but he perks up after Graves takes a quick break for a slash. He gets up from the couch and pulls Graves to him by the belt loops of his jeans. Graves pushes his hips back and gets his hands on Credence’s shoulders, but not fast enough to avoid Credence’s tongue in his mouth and along his jaw, when Graves doesn’t kiss back.

When Graves has him at an arm’s length, hands planted more firmly on his shoulders, Credence can hardly focus on him. He tries a sneak attack from below, reaching for Graves cock in his jeans, rubbing so roughly that Graves has to bite the inside of his cheek. He moves his hands down to trap both of Credence’s wrists, and Credence pouts.

“Time to sleep it off,” Graves growls, and Credence pouts some more but loses his fight rather quickly when Graves starts manhandling him towards his bedroom.

After a long hot shower and another finger of whisky, Graves slips into Credence’s room and puts a couple of Advil and a huge glass of water on his bedside table.

Credence emerges to use the bathroom rather early, but he doesn’t come out again for a long time. Probably a killer hangover. At noon, Graves knocks on the door.

“We’re on at three. Are you going to be ready soon, or–?”

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” Credence says in a small voice.

There are no words before they leave the house, none in the car, and zero in the dressing room. The next thing Graves says to Credence as Graves isn’t until he’s said a whole lot of things to him as Mr. Wood, the neighbor next door. Things like “It’ll be our secret” (when he’s snugged up behind Credence, rubbing his cock through a pair of thin athletic pants) and “Doesn’t that feel good” (when he’s eating Credence out while Credence reaches back between his legs to pull on Graves’ cock) and “Spread your legs wide for me, as wide as you can” (when Credence is on his back, hands behind his knees, chin tipped up for the kisses and bites that Mr. Wood was lavishing up and down the pale column of his neck until he stopped to get to the fucking).

Credence twists his face to the side when Graves leans over, close enough to kiss him, so Graves doesn’t. He stays low and fucks into Credence in hard, rhythmic thrusts. After a few minutes, he shifts his weight to one elbow and reaches between them to get a hand on Credence, and Credence screws his eyes shut tight and comes, immediately, all over his fist.

Porn is often a marathon, not a sprint, and Credence is visibly fading by the end. Graves moved him to hands and knees after he came, then on his side, holding Credence’s top leg up high and spread wide for the cameras. He puts him on his back again to finish, but with just one leg up, over Graves’ shoulder. Credence doesn’t react at all to three of Graves’ fingers spreading more lube in his cleft as well as up inside, and he only grunts a little when Graves fucks in again.

When he starts to come, Graves pulls out and holds the head of his cock in hand, letting the camera see the first spurt, and then he uses his hand to position the head back at Credence’s hole and pushes in by sheer force of will to finish inside him. It’s almost unbearable, pushing through the tightness just inside Credence’s rim when he’s coming and feather-touch sensitive, but once he’s sheathed again, each stroke of the rest of his orgasm is pure bliss. He almost doesn’t notice when Credence raises a hand to the back of Graves’ neck to help hold him in place, but he definitely notices when Credence removes it, hastily, as soon as the director has called “Cut!”

So the next thing Graves says to Credence as Graves is “Sorry” when Credence flinches at the application of the wet wipe to his hole. “Sore?” he asks next.

Credence nods.

“Should I have stopped more often for lube?”

Graves wipes more gently at the mess as it drips out of Credence, and Credence screws his eyes shut and holds himself very still. “It’s fine,” he answers finally, “You were fine.”

In the car on the way home, Credence is looking out the window, away from Graves, and he doesn’t turn when he address him. “I’m sorry about last night,” he says quietly, the weight of many more trials than should be possible for a man his age in his voice.

Graves considers and discards several ways of answering. In the end, he settles on the simplest: “Apology accepted.”

* * *

Credence insists on picking up the keys to his new apartment and moving his things alone. His building is on a convenient bus route, and the live-in property manager has the keys, so it’s not hard. Credence’s worldly possessions to date—clothes, a few paperbacks, and not much more—fit in a Hefty trash bag, and no one even looks at him twice when he brings it on the bus. It’s not rush hour, so he takes up two seats between him and the bag, and the ride feels both short and long.

It’s hard to believe that in the space of six months not only is Credence free from Ma’s wrath (and his own belt) but also moving into his own _apartment_. The job is where it all started: the job that Credence can’t really mention in polite company but that has changed his life in almost every imaginable way.

The job led him to Graves, who is a friend of the truest kind. And in recent weeks—and with the help of Mrs. Lincoln, who makes Credence talk about everything he’s tried to bury under Bible verses and hymns—Credence is starting to realize that what he does on camera doesn’t feel wrong. It still makes him hot behind the ears to think about strangers watching it, but the acts themselves—touching, sucking, fucking—it’s not hurting anyone. And it can feel very, very good, and like Graves said that one time about something else: there’s no need for a divine explanation. It’s just biology.

The apartment is a single room with a kitchen on one wall and a bathroom with a bathtub, which is one of the things that Credence listed when Graves coaxed a list of requirements for his apartment out of him. Credence still gets rashes sometimes, normal friction rashes, and an oatmeal bath is one of the best soothers he’s found.

Graves arrives mid-afternoon when Credence is unpacking some of the smaller necessities he bought at the Target at the end of the bus route. Dishes and silverware, towels and cleaning supplies.

“What’s this?” Credence asks, poking at the paper bag Graves has dropped on the kitchen counter.

“For later,” Graves replies. “Go ahead and open it, and put them in the fridge, if you would.”

There are two bottles in the bag: champagne and sparkling grape juice.

After the trip to IKEA and a lot of cursing over the assembly of a bed, a table and chairs, and a chest of drawers (the chest of drawers in particular contains far more parts than Credence ever would have imagined), Graves orders Thai food and pays for it when Credence isn’t paying attention.

“Which do you want?”

Credence is still screwing knobs onto the drawers, but he looks up at the question. Graves is holding up the two bottles.

“Booze or non-booze,” Graves clarifies. “Or both. I wasn’t sure what you might want to try.”

“What’s champagne like?”

“Very bubbly. Sometimes sweet, but this one not so much. They call it dry, when it’s any kind of wine that’s not sweet.”

“Dry,” Credence repeats. It doesn’t sound very appealing, and that must show on his face.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Graves says, wiggling the bottle a little.

“Okay,” Credence agrees.

Champage is _amazing_ , like a tart summer apple that fizzes into nothing and sparkles all the way down, and the heat that grows in Credence’s belly after a glass of it feels a little...sexual. He doesn’t let Graves pour him more than a half glass for a second helping because he wants to show that he can be responsible, this time, and because Graves is a little sweaty, and his hair is mussed up, some strands hanging loose over his undercut on the sides, and the overall effect is devastatingly attractive, so Credence is working up the courage to kiss him. There’s been no kissing, offscreen, since the hospital, and it used to be so _easy_. Credence wavers between _We used to do it all the time, of course he won’t mind_ and _He clearly doesn’t want to kiss me, ever again, or else he would have already_.

It’s not until Graves has helped take all the cardboard and miscellaneous IKEA trash to the dumpsters and put the leftover Thai away in the fridge that Credence screws up the last scraps of his courage and goes for it, without any warning. He puts a hand on Graves’ elbow to stop him in the middle of putting his jacket on and uses his other hand at the back of Graves head to hold him in place. It’s not an ambitious kiss, just Credence’s lips fitted to Graves’ like puzzle pieces coming together. Graves breathes out hard through his nose and shifts for a better angle, pressing harder.

Credence wants _more_ , but he almost doesn’t know what to do next after he licks at the seam of Graves’ lips and Graves’ mouth opens for him. He hesitates, lips of his open mouth brushing Graves’, and he’s not prepared for Graves to moan deep his throat and pull him close with an arm around his waist when he licks into his mouth.

It’s good— _really_ good—for a few long seconds, but then Graves starts thrashing a little, and Credence pulls away to the realization that Graves still has one arm half in the sleeve in his jacket, and it’s trapped. Credence helps him pull it back off, and Graves doesn’t remove the other sleeve he’d already put on, but just grabs Credence’s face in both his hands and turns him until his back is against the wall before leaning in to kiss him again.

It’s Credence who pulls Graves’ hips close and forces them both to face the reality of their erections. Graves rolls his hips once, a familiar action in an unfamiliar context, and then he pulls back.

“I want this,” Graves says, punctuating the statement with a kiss to the corner of Credence’s mouth. “God, so bad. But I think we should stop for tonight. But only–“

“Only what?” Credence prompts.

“Only if I know you’re going to take care of that.” Graves rolls his hips again, carefully, and Credence groans.

“Why do we need to stop?”

“Because we need to talk first. About what you want. And what I want, and whether those things are compatible.”

“Can’t we talk later? We _have_ done it all before.” Even to his own ears, Credence’s voice sounds petulant.

“Oh Credence,” Graves exclaims, reaching out to cradle Credence’s jaw in his palm and run his thumb along one cheekbone. “We haven’t. We really haven’t. There is so much more for us.” 

“But not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” Graves confirms. “Though I do want you to strip off your clothes and make yourself come naked on your new sheets, or in your shower, thinking about me. Will you do that for me?”

Credence knows he’s blushing, and that Graves can probably feel the heat of it under his hand, but it’s hard to care when his cock is throbbing and Graves is painting such a tempting picture. A rather urgently tempting picture.

“Yes,” Credence says, turning his head to press a kiss in the center of Graves’ palm. He lets his tongue slip out a little, and Graves lets out a hiss.

Credence steps back and starts pushing Graves towards the door.

“Eager, are we?” Graves teases.

“Good night. Thank you for...everything.”

Graves tugs him in by the waist for a final kiss, and Credence bites down on Graves’ bottom lip when he starts to pull away and then sucks at the small hurt, but Graves only groans and pulls free. He winks before he shuts the door behind him.

* * *

After The Talk, Graves invites Credence to stay the night, if he wants, and Credence accepts. So they’re going to have sex, obviously. Credence is clearly nervous about it and half trying to hide that fact, but half letting it show because he trusts Graves enough to let him see, and that almost makes Graves a little nervous.

It starts in the living room on the couch, but when Credence tries to get his legs around Graves’ waist for better leverage to frot up against him, Graves doesn’t let him. He stands and leads him to the bedroom instead.

Stripping each other feels a bit like being on set, so once they’re naked, Graves changes the pace. He gathers Credence into his arms, both of them on their sides, legs tangled together. He sweeps his hands up and down Credence’s back slowly and kisses his temple before moving his mouth to Credence’s ear.

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Credence whispers. “Anything.”

“Anything?”

Credence raises his eyes to Graves’. “What are you thinking?”

“I have a few ideas,” Graves starts. He reaches down to curl his fingers around the shaft of Credence’s cock, which is mostly hard and silky smooth under his fingertips. “One of them is simply to feel this inside me.”

“You want _me_ to fuck _you_?”

“If the idea appeals to you, yes. Please.”

“Oh,” Credence says on an exhale, and Graves can’t be sure if it’s a reaction to his hand stroking over the head of Credence’s cock or the revelation that top and bottom roles don’t have to be totally fixed.

Credence’s long, slender fingers are exceedingly gentle, but it still takes a long time for Graves to feel ready for his cock. It’s been _years_ , more than half a dozen of them, probably.

“How do you want me?”

Credence frowns a little as he considers, but Graves isn’t surprised that he ends up on his back. He pulls a pillow down to put under his hips and lets his legs fall open, and Credence kisses him deeply, drawing courage, before he starts guiding his cock inside.

“That’s it,” Graves encourages, once the head is seated inside. “Keep going, it’s good.”

Once Credence is fully sheathed, Graves moves his hands from their loose hold around Credence’s waist to his ass. He kneads it and presses down to hear Credence choke on a moan when he’s as deep as it’s possible to be. He also dares to let his fingers dip into Credence’s cleft and brush over his hole, and Credence shudders at that and twitches his hips.

It’s a fast fuck, once Credence gets going. It’s tight and close and humid, with Credence alternately trying to fuck Graves’ throat with his tongue or panting into his neck while his hips bounce in the cradle of Graves’ legs. He makes a sound that Graves has never heard from him before when he starts to come, and Graves lifts a hand to brush Credence’s hair out of his eyes and watch his mouth open in a perfect O.

Graves introduces Credence to another new thing to get himself off, instructing Credence to roll on his side and squeeze his thighs together. Credence twists his head and shoulders when Graves starts thrusting between his thighs and offers, “You could fuck me, if you want.”

Graves smiles and kisses Credence’s shoulder, then his mouth. “This has its own charms, trust me,” he says, pulling Credence closer against his chest. Credence kisses him again, sweet at first, then dirty and messy when Graves picks up the pace. When Graves comes with Credence’s lips on his and their fingers laced together and pressed to Credence’s sternum, it’s another first. A first of many.

**Author's Note:**

> Porn scenarios included here are, specifically: doctor abusing/raping a patient, father-(underage) son incest, and teacher-student sexual abuse.
> 
> The consent is dubious in an economic desperation kind of way, and there is non-consensual sex depicted, but not experienced, by the characters.
> 
> Additional kinks that appear (aside from what's listed in the tags) without a major focus: rimming.
> 
> (Feel free to suggest more to be added to this list in the comments. I feel like I'm forgetting something, or several somethings.)
> 
> And just in case: I'm sure the adult film industry doesn't work this way; mandatory reporting _definitely_ does not work as depicted (I was tempted to add a 'Flagrant Violation of HIPAA' tag), and I'm certain there are more plot-holes here than found in a standard loofah. This is a smut epic with a little angst and whump for seasoning, please enjoy it as is.  <3
> 
> (I did, by the way, watch _a lot_ of porn for, um, research. You're welcome.)


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